


Three Stories

by RHHP_Freak



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Sherlock (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Drinking, Gen, Some Ten/Rose, Superwholock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-13
Updated: 2013-02-13
Packaged: 2017-11-29 03:33:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/682252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RHHP_Freak/pseuds/RHHP_Freak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A hunter, a doctor and an alien walk into a bar. These are their stories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Stories

**Author's Note:**

> First try at a Superwholock fic and also my first try at writing a Supernatural fanfic! Constructive criticism is welcome.   
> Thanks to Lady Shaye on ff.net and my friend Kasper for convincing me it was good enough to publish :)
> 
> TIMELINE:  
> SPN: Set post 'All Hell Breaks Loose - Part 2'  
> DW: Post 'Doomsday'  
> SH: Post 'The Reichenbach Fall'

A hunter, a doctor and an alien walk into a bar. This may sound like the beginning of a terrible joke, but if you are looking for a funny punchline, you might as well leave, because you will not find it here.

The hunter, a man, who seemed impossibly old for his age, had held his younger brother as he died. He had watched the cold, lifeless body, before deciding to give up his own life for him. Now, he had a year left to live before Hell would be waiting for him. At least, some of the balance in the world would be restored. He was going to die, just like he was supposed to have done after the crash, before his father had sacrificed himself for him. But no matter what he did, he could not get the image of Sam lying on the bed out his head. Yep, life was really, really great for Dean Winchester.

The doctor had just watched his best friend jump off a building. The very thought shook him to the core. He still could not believe it had really happened. Sherlock was the man, who would try to outlive God just to have the last word. The man, who had seemed so unbeatable. Sometimes, he just waited for him to casually walk through the door, covered in blood after spending his morning harpooning a dead pig. John Watson had been to war, seen countless of deaths, but none of them had shook him up this badly.

The alien had just said goodbye to the woman he loved on a windy beach in Norway. He would never see her again, never get a chance to tell her, what he truly felt. But he could not help, but cling to the desperate hope that she knew, deep down, she knew. On top of that was the loneliness, his constant companion throughout his life. The ache it left behind had only grown worse as the years progressed, had nearly destroyed him after he had been forced to destroy his own people. Sometimes, the Doctor hated the world.

These three broken men walked into that bar on that dark and stormy night.

Dean was the first to walk through the door, having left Sam at the motel. He needed some time to himself, needed to clear his head and the best way to do that was to buy a lot of alcohol and get completely bombed.

“Whisky,” he said to the bartender. He looked at the other people in the bar. Young, carefree drunk people, who had no idea what happened right under their noses. Some days, he wished he was one of them. Hell, it had been one of his deepest, most secret wishes until the Jinn had given it to him. Now he was going to Hell, paying yet another price for the life he was living. The life he would soon leave behind for good. At least, this way his life would mean something. 

He hardly noticed as a man limped over and sat down next to him, until he was ordering his drink. He had dark circles under his eyes and to be honest, he looked like terrible, almost as broken as him. 

“Rough day?” he asked, as a large glass of vodka was placed in front of the other man.

“Try rough year,” the man replied.

“I hate to say I know the feeling. Rough years behind me, a rough year ahead. I’m Dean, by the way.”

“John, John Watson,” the man said. “Actually, it’s Doctor John Watson, if you want to be all formal. Not that I care.” He took a swig of the vodka and started coughing violently.

“Easy there,” Dean said and pounded John on the back. “Obviously that is too strong for you. Maybe you should start with a nice glass of milk. You know, baby steps.” John glared at him. “So, what brings you over the pond, John?”

“I was just trying to get away,” he said. “I… something happened and I couldn’t stay. America was the first place, which crossed my mind.” He was silent for a moment, deep in thought. “Anyway, why are you spending your night brooding here?”

“Oh, you know, dead parents, I almost lost my brother a few days ago. Life’s a friggin’ ray of sunshine and rainbows.” He downed his scotch. “Some days I wish I had a normal life.”

“Cheers to that,” John said and emptied his glass, fortunately without another coughing fit. “My best friend committed suicide right in front me. Jumped down from a building. Now, I’m the Fake Genius’ Best Friend and Potential Ex-Lover. I told him people would talk…” he trailed off.

“Sounds to me like you could use another drink,” a voice came from behind them. John and Dean turned around and a thin man wearing a brown suit with brown hair, sticking up in every direction. “I’ll have a banana daiquiri,” he said to the bartender, “And give those a couple of drinks on me.”

“Who are you?” Dean asked. “And why is this place full of English dudes?”

“I’m not English,” the man said and sat down. “I’m the Doctor. I couldn’t help but overhear what you were talking about and thought I’d join the misery.”

“Three’s a crowd,” John put in. “And this is a crowd of misery.”

“I hear you. So, what’s your story, Doctor… whatever your name is?”

“Well, long story short, all of my family is dead, all of my friends are gone and I just lost the woman I… I mean, my significant other…I can never see her again…” he trailed off, avoiding the other men’s glances.

“Sorry to hear that,” John said, putting his hand on the Doctor’s shoulders.

“We’re a bunch of messes, aren’t we?” Dean said. Both the Doctor and John nodded and for a moment they were all silent as they lost themselves in their thoughts.

John thought about Sherlock. How he had looked, when he jumped down from the building, the body lying on the ground, covered in blood. The funeral he had attended. The number of people who had turned up had surprised him. He doubted even Sherlock knew how many lives he had touched, how many people, who were happy, because of him. He was his best friend, the best man and the greatest hero, he had never known.

Dean could still feel Sam’s body in his arms; still feel the blood on his hands. The intense relief at seeing him alive again. He did not regret doing this. At least not yet.   


Roses choked up words still echoed in his ears “ _I-I love you_ ”. He thought of how he could get back to her, without breaking the walls between the Universes, them to collapse. Which was impossible. He knew that, but a part of him still longed to do it. He had lost her, just as he had lost everyone else.

“I would like to propose a toast,” the Doctor suddenly said. “For our little Crowd of Misery. May the future look much brighter, at least until the year 5 billion. It turns almost too bright there.”

“What?”

“You know, that’s when the Sun expands, the Earth’s - poof - gone. Or not poof, more like boom. Anyway, a toast,” he raised his glass. “For us.”

The three glasses clinked as they emptied their glasses. And indeed things would look brighter for them. Dean would survive going through hell. The Doctor slowly moved on, and finally, one day, he ended up seeing Rose’s smile light up his world once again. And as for John, well, let’s just say Sherlock couldn’t say away from him forever, could he?


End file.
